The obnoxious blare of sound makes Nick wrinkle his nose; his game day alarm always feels so much more aggressive than his regular alarm. Eyes stubbornly staying closed, he mentally goes through his schedule for the day.
And then someone beside him lets out a quiet groan.
Nick freezes.
“Mmm… ’s too loud.”
Memories of last night flood his mind, and Nick turns his head, opening his eyes to see Matt sprawled on his side with the duvet twisted around his hips, face half-smushed against his own forearm. He squints up at Nick, lips turned down in a frown. “Why’s your alarm so evil?” he mumbles, giving the most adorably rumpled glare. Nick snorts to cover the way his breath hitches.
“Because I hate getting out of bed.” He rolls over, grabbing his phone to turn the alarm off, but doesn’t settle back down. He’s made that mistake before. “But I have to. Because I have a game today.” He groans. “Shit, I have to be at the rink in, like, forty minutes.”
“Time is it?” Nick shows him the phone screen. Matt swears. “Gotta be at the airport by ten. Haven’t packed yet.Ugh.” Then, to Nick’s surprise, Matt reaches one long arm out to drag him closer, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. “G’morning.”
Nick lies there, stunned, as Matt proceeds to swing his legs out of bed and get to his feet with a stretch, unashamed in his nakedness. He smiles, relaxed and cheerful, bending down to retrieve his boxers off the floor. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to feed me or anything. I can be out of your hair in twenty. Wouldn’t say no to some coffee, though.”
“I—Sure, yeah.” Nick has no idea what’s going on, but coffee he can do.
He has every intention of getting dressed, but then he hears scratching at his door and an irritated meow, and he snorts. “Oh, poor baby,” he coos as he opens it, grabbing Dolly and holding her up like Simba so she can’t shred his chest with her angry little claws. “So neglected, you poor thing.”
He’s forgotten he has company until he hears Matt chuckle. He blushes, ducking his head and putting Dolly back on the floor, hurriedly finding some sweatpants.
Pointedly ignoring the litany ofwhat the fuck, what the fuck, what happens nowrunning through his mind, Nick turns on the coffee machine and gets Dolly fed—or, rather, puts her food down only for her to completely ignore it. She’s too preoccupied with staring suspiciously at Matt, who has emerged from the bedroom dressed in his clothes from yesterday. God, he even makes the walk of shame look good.
Nick can’t keep looking at Matt, or he’ll say something stupid; he turns back to the coffee machine, drumming his fingers impatiently while he waits for it to pour. “Oh, look at you.” He hears a quiet murmur from across the room. “I promise I’m not going to steal your breakfast. You can eat it, it’s okay. I’ll stay over here. You can trust me. Promise.”
When Nick turns around with coffee, it’s to see Matt squatted down in the large space between the back of the couch and the kitchen island, the no-man’s land in the open plan living area. He’s got his hands out in surrender and a soft smile on his face, his eyes fixed fondly on Dolly’s bristling form. Nick’s tiny little cat is arched and glaring, planted solidly in front of her food bowl, the barest little growl rumbling in her chest. Nick snorts.
“Sorry. She’s kind of… fighty.”
“It’s cute. Reminds me of you,” Matt retorts, winking. Then his gaze zeroes in on the coffee. “Ooh, is that mine?” He straightens up, and as he reaches for the mug, Dolly launches herself at his legs. “Oh boy, okay. Ow, those claws are sharp, huh?”
“Shit.” Nick hurriedly sets the mug down, grabbing his renegade pet. “Princess, we’ve talked about this. You can’t attack my guests. God, I’m sorry. Are you bleeding?” It wouldn’t be thefirst time. There’s a reason they tend to have team gatherings at Marco’s place.
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Matt waves him off, far too nice about what is definitely a small rip in his jeans that wasn’t there before.
It’s Nick’s fault, all of it—usually when he has new people over he gives Dolly a chance to get used to them steadily, so that things like this don’t happen. But he just couldn’t keep his stupid hands off of Matt, and now he’s here and disrupting their morning routine and the cat is freaking out and?—
Okay, maybe he’s projecting, just a little.
“So,” the singer starts, once he’s had a long sip of his coffee. “Last night was fun.”
Heat floods Nick’s cheeks. “I—Yeah.”
“I, uh,” Matt continues, dropping his gaze for a moment, “I know you said you don’t, like,dothis, but, uh, I had a really good time with you. So if you wanted to, maybe, do it again then I would… that would be cool, y’know?”
Nick blinks. Stares. Matt’s face reddens.
“I mean, whatever you want, it’s totally cool, no pressure. But like, you travel a lot, and I travel a lot, but if when we’re both in the city at the same time you wanted to keep hanging out and maybe doing this, I would… like that.” He wraps the arm not holding his coffee around his waist, looking adorably tentative. Nick continues to stare, panic building tight in his chest.
“So, like… like fuckbuddies?” he croaks out, coughing when his voice cracks.
He’s so caught up in trying to school his face into something neutral, he misses the strange expression that flashes very briefly across Matt’s.
“Sure!” the other man agrees, nodding. “Exactly—friends who sometimes have sex when they’re into it. Y’know, casual.Totally chill. Nobody has to be out about anything they don’t wanna be.”
The words echo in Nick’s mind as he stands there, the only sound the quiet crunching of Dolly wolfing down her kibble at an unholy pace.
He’s done fuckbuddies before, kinda. A handful of other closeted NHL players who are down to hook up in anonymous hotel rooms when their teams play each other. But that’s not the same; they’re not friends, really. Not even that into each other, just glad for the safety of mutually assured destruction.
